A wise man once suggested that the greatest relationships in our lives happen when we enjoy time together with absolutely no agenda. No limit or schedule. Just hanging out. I will always recall my time with Carter this way. When we moved up to Pennsylvania and fixed up the cottage at Four Brooks, I didn’t get a job. We worked together on the little house almost everyday, and relaxed at night. Some days, when we really needed a rest, we would do just that. We’d go for a drive. We would have breakfast at the Cornerstone Café in Frenchtown. We’d see a movie or spend four hours trolling a bookstore together. Or just walk around the property and look for buried treasure, exploring a newly discovered room in one of the old camp buildings. Sometimes we would just sit together and talk. Or enjoy the silence. A few years later, when I bought my house, I really kicked myself for not getting a job during the first six months we lived here. I could have saved the money I made on the sale of my house in Fayetteville, and parlayed it into improvements on my new house in Bethlehem. Instead, with no income, we spent the money on groceries; we splurged on cds, eating out, Barnes & Noble sprees, Ikea shopping trips, and movie tickets. Looking around my newly purchased one hundred year-old house, I would have traded them for a new kitchen. And gutters. And a sofa from Pottery Barn. The one with down in the cushions. Wow did I regret not working during that time. Move forward with me. To today. I’m here, in the bargaining stage of D.A.B.D.A. You know, the inevitable stages of grief. I’ve lost my friend. I’m thinking silly thoughts of trading everything I own for one more day of carefree timelessness with Carter. I recall my regret for not working during the remodeling of the cottage. Then, I remember all those fantastic mind-blowing conversations we had during those six months - talking all day as we worked. I remember evenings of song lyric dissection. Watching Ken Burns documentaries and Simpsons reruns. Listening to Brahms. I treasure that time we had together. I see it through new eyes, now that he’s gone; that regret has dissipated. Today, I happily keep those months of memories. I wouldn’t trade them for shiny new gutters. Or a fabulous sofa. I stand in my shabby old kitchen and give glory to God for the gift of carefree time spent with my dear friend, who traveled temporarily with me on my journey - exactly as far as he was meant to.